Fetters and Fathoms
by BlueGreenApples
Summary: Korra, brash new avatar, rises to prominence in the turbulence of Republic City while faces new and old struggle against the Equalist Revolution. A drabble collection of canon pairings and universes.
1. Slackjawed

**Fetters and Fathoms**

**Chapter 1: **Slack-jawed

**Prompt: **Distracted

**Pairings: **Implied Makorra, faint Borra

**Disclaimer: I don't own this franchise, nor am I affiliated with Nick or LoK's creators.**

* * *

_She's been sheltered_, Mako reasons to himself. Keeping his eyes locked forward, he reenforces the thought. _The White Lotus kept her in a compound for the majority of her life. She's been surrounded by old masters and other stuffy-types._ His elbows draw together and he drops into a basic guard. It's a standard, solid move. One that has served him well in the arena to block unexpected strikes; and he's not sure if it's as applicable to his current situation as he hopes, but he can't think of anything else and-

It's just then that he notices Bolin's expression. The loud _tink_ of the earth plates against one and other drew his attention. Rather than popping into the air and smashing under the earthbender's blows, the disks are firing and falling into a slowly accumulating pile on the floor. Bolin's distracted by _exactly_ what Mako's been hunched over trying to avoid staring at-while Korra drills on at the exercise they taught her, oblivious to the brothers' dilemma.

Before he can think twice, Mako's lunged out of his defensive stance. An arc of flame that's, on second thought, a bit hotter than he intended clips the earthbender's slack chin. Bolin shouts as he reels back, tripped up by the pile of stones he's left on the mat.

He's down and cursing, which is satisfying at first-for reasons Mako won't analyze, because usually he's pretty easy on his baby brother-until Korra turns toward the noise. Then the situation veers from humorous to awkward once more.

She stomps her foot to scatter the clay trainers, which draws a faint grimace from Mako-the motion only served to accentuate the source of his current stress.

"Are you daydreaming or training, Bo?" Korra asks with mixed amusement and teasing.

Bolin easily plays off his embarrassment with sheepish charm. But as he continues to spin an increasingly cheesy reason for his accident, Korra crosses her arms. The casual action makes Mako groan. _ This is too much._

She gives him a look so strange that he wonders rather or not steam is pouring from his ears. "What is _with _you guys today?"

Mako just frowns blackly and is about to brush off her question when Bolin blurts out, "We're just a little distracted."

Korra cocks an eyebrow as Bolin coughs nervously and quickly comes to his feet. "Distracted?" she parrots, disbelief clear in her tone.

"Ah, yeah." Rubbing a hand through his curly hair, Bolin nods. He glances to Mako for support but finds none, the firebender's face is pointedly blank.

Her annoyance with their strange behavior is almost visible as it builds in her features. Hands at her hips she narrows her eyes and barks, "Explain."

Bolin sings like a catowl under pressure. "Mako can't stop starring at your, uh-you know," he sputters for an appropriate phrase but settles for gesturing.

Mako is left in disbelief as his brother pantomimes female breasts over his broad, clearly male chest. He looks up just in time to see understanding dawn on Korra's face. She glances down to her own upper body, covered only by thin bindings, and blinks. The expression is followed rapidly by conflict, disbelief and embarrassment.

For once, the brash avatar is speechless. A curious coolness overcomes her face as she spins on her heel, grabs up her discarded shirt and stomps out.

As the door bangs shut in her wake, Mako is snapped from his shocked silence. "What the _hell_, Bo?"

"I'm sorry!" Dodging a gout of flame, he wails, "I panicked, okay? She was all bossy, and I didn't know what else to do!"

Mako just growls a disgusted sound and sends another, half-hearted flurry of fire his way.

Bolin hops from one foot to the other, genuinely remorseful and unsure what to do, but Mako's still angry. "I'll fix it! I'll go an' find her, just-"

"No." Both brothers blink at Mako's testy response. Setting his jaw, Mako recovers and adds, "You've done enough."

"But-"

"But nothing, just leave it." Slicing a hand down in a decisive gesture, Mako sighs. "She'll come back when she feels like it, running after her and trying to explain will just make her even more. . .frustrated."

Head tipped to the side, Bolin seems to study Mako as if for the first time. Reluctantly, the earthbender lets the matter drop.

Or so Mako thought. A moment later, he's unwrapping his fists when Bolin's voice calls out coyly. "It _was_ pretty spectacular, though. Wasn't it? They were all out there like: BOOM! I seriously couldn't stop-Ack! No don't!"

Mako convinces himself that his face is tight with ambient heat, reddened by the plume of flame that sends Bolin. It's completely unrelated to his teammate's naive grasp on practice apparel. Completely.


	2. Somber Sounds

**Fetters and Fathoms**

**Chapter 2: **Somber Sounds

**Prompt: **Bitter

**Pairings: **Implied Makorra, faint Borra and Masami

**Disclaimer: I don't own this franchise, nor am I affiliated with Nick or LoK's creators.**

* * *

A soft snore floated from the backseat of the Satomobile coupe. Arm draped behind Asami's driverside headrest, Mako turned to tease his brother-and head off his horrid snoring before it hit full swing. The sight that met his eyes made him pause. Korra and Bolin were both sound asleep, crumpled over each other. The innocent trust that the scene implied made something catch in Mako's throat.

"Are they out?"

Asami's whisper made him start. "Yeah," he sighed, flashing his teeth in what he hoped passed for a grin. "They're nice and cozy."

Asami smothered a laugh at his dry commentary, while Mako tried to swallow the bitter taste the words left behind.


	3. In the Wind

**Title: **In the Wind

**Prompt: **Desperation

**Pairings: **Heavily implied Makorra, very faint Masami

**Disclaimer: I don't own this franchise, nor am I affiliated with Nick or LoK's creators.**

* * *

She was _gone_. No matter how many times he rolled the thought over in his mind, Mako couldn't force it to settle. Korra was _missing_. Abducted. Everything seemed surreal as his mind spun at the implications—at the _possibilities_.

Chief Bei Fong was muttering something about "lovers" and Asami was somewhere behind him, but all Mako could think was that _somewhere Korra was afraid and alone_. It made an instinct that his brain usually reserved for Bolin flare with vengeance and desperation.

Because she was too brave to sit pretty while Amon monologued to her. She was all rough edges and grit and determination. He could almost see the fire rippling from her fingers, see Amon bending her back until it strained and pressing that damned hand to her brow.

Her blue, blue eyes would go wide and glaze over in terror and pain and she'd probably shout in that distinct, throaty voice of hers, but it wouldn't be commanding like it was supposed to be. That monster would steal her bending and—his thoughts began to run together in a cruel loop.

He was running.

Mako realized this in a sort of peripheral sense, the same way he knew the rest of their group was behind him and that he really_ shouldn't _be charging around in an Equalist base. But his cool-under-pressure attitude was in the wind.

So it isn't until, hours later, when he hears Naga's howl that he begins to feel anything less than panic. Hanging over the side of the skybison's saddle, he catches sight of her. She's ragged and he can't tell at this distance rather or not she's breathing.

They land, he knows logically, but he doesn't remember any of it. There's just the impression that are too many people surrounding her, asking too many questions. Before he's even formed the thought, he's barking at them to stand back. That dark corner of his mind that lends him lightning and makes protecting Bolin an absolute priority is talking, now.

Clearly he isn't thinking straight, because as he gathers Korra to himself, he belatedly realizes that he _pushed aside Chief Bei Fong_ to get to her. But that thought is fleeting too. All that he can see is her face, scraped and pale under her complexion.

Settling her against the softest corner of the saddle that he can find, Mako finally draws a whole breath. She's smiling at him, or trying to, and he realizes the hand brushing her hair back is _his_ and that he's saying and doing things that Bolin is _absolutely_ going to tease him for later. But it doesn't matter. All he can focus on are her eyes and the hair fallen around them.

She's _safe. _Korra is safe and Mako can breathe again.


	4. A Little Salt

**Title: **A Little Salt

**Prompt: **Pride

**Pairings: **Makorra

**Disclaimer: I don't own this franchise, nor am I affiliated with Nick or LoK's creators.**

* * *

He's like nothing she's ever seen.

It's difficult at first, correlating the fact that the faceless "Mako with the moxie" from the radio is _right there_. Forget that he's pinning her with a look that's far from welcoming. He's so close Korra can see his gear's scarred surfaces. There are blast marks on the flat of his chest panels and chips in the padding of his helm. He's _real_ and he's every bit as cool as she imagined.

Down to the way he moves, he's unique. All the firebenders she's ever known were trained traditionally—their stances studied and flawless. Mako was _different_. He was never too long in one place. His weight was always rolling from his toe to heel, hands loose at his sides and his eyes scanning over everything. The effect of all these habits should have translated to a Mako who seemed jittery or shifty. It didn't. Rather he seemed cagey: restless with a sense of capability.

So she's smiling her best at him—with little effect—and she only lets it sting her pride a little when he walks off her good luck wish. Korra's used to people hanging on her words and clamoring for her blessing. The experience is humbling at worst and novel at best. And, in a corner of her mind that she's never explored, there's something _fascinating_ about the fact that he doesn't idolize her.

This seed of adoration is only fed by watching him bend. She can almost feel it take root inside her chest; her heart surging with vicarious pride as he twists her favorite element into shapes she's never imagined. He's all hard lines and light feet—and Korra can't look away.

Later, when he's hardly looked twice at her, she doesn't mind. Instead she's absorbing every bit of expertise from Bolin that she can. With a quick one-two combination, Korra feels the earth slide from under her mind's touch, soaring with perfect accuracy into the net. She cheers and spins to catch Mako's reaction.

He's lounging against a beam with such effortlessness that Korra can feel her face heat up. Even without his armored uniform, there's a certain presence about him. Her eyes are on the subtle swells of muscle in his upper body—the ones that almost scream _firebender_—when he finally comments on her efforts at his sport. _Not bad_ is hardly the worst critique she's heard, yet it weighs curiously more than the harshness of her many masters. But kind Bolin is all compliments and she finds a smile for him.

Anyway, she'll _make _Mako notice.


	5. A Different Kind

**Title:**A Different Kind

**Prompt:**Figure

**Pairings:**Implied Makorra, very faint Borra

**Disclaimer: I don't own this franchise, nor am I affiliated with Nick or LoK's creators.**

* * *

She's hardly Bolin's usual type.

When he strides into the prep zone, Mako nearly pauses at the sight of her. She's all dark hair and warm skin—completely unlike the pale, delicate things Bo usually drags home. There's none of the flighty, flirty coyness about this one.

Her feet are braced at shoulder width in an unconscious, learned habit. _Bender_, his street sense notes instantly, _a trained one_. This is also outside Bolin's usual type. Most girls he brings around her non- or untrained benders—which makes a few probending tricks all the more impressive. As he bangs open his locker, Mako feels his eyes darting back to her.

Another cursory glance tells him more._ Water bender_, his mind specifies as he flicks a glance at her clothing—the fur boots and hair ornaments make it an easy guess. Her hair isn't primped and overbrushed. It's wild beneath its beading and unruly at her crown, where the bulk of it is gathered in a practical topknot. She doesn't seem like a product of the City. Years of experience with the inhabitants of every social strata of this town made him almost certain she was new to its bustling streets.

His eyes are drawn back to the curve of her waist as she fists her hands on her hips, her bold voice half-shouting something to Bolin in guileless excitement. She certainly isn't the soft shape that Bolin seems to prefer. Rather her midsection is all confident planes, the tuck of her hips is so trim it's almost angular. When he finds himself watching her belly shift as she laughs, Mako jerks himself out of his daze. He has literal _minutes _before his next match. His head should be full of drills and strategy—not thoughts of some random fangirl's figure.

Scowling at his own weakness, he hisses at Bolin to get her out of the locker room. Mako watches her expressive hands flit into a chain of gestures as she says something or other to him, but a movement from Hasook in his peripheral vision distracts him from her exact words. The third member of his squad is not a man he particularly likes—but there's no real reason for the heat that flares in his gut when he catches the man's eyes raking over Bolin's newest girl.

He knows his next comment comes out harsh when it makes Bolin flinch comically and rush to excuse his temperament. But it's enough to make the girl cross her arms over her generous chest, and effective in redirecting Hasook's attention from her anatomy. _Close enough_, Mako thinks. It's done what he'd hoped to accomplish—and his social skills have never been as great as Bo's. So rather than apologize for the small victory after so many annoyances, Mako buckles on his helmet and heads for the platform.

Besides, she's hardly Bo's type—there's no sense in getting invested.


	6. Don't Listen to a Word I Say

**Title**: Don't Listen to A Word I Say

**Prompt**: Condescension

**Pairings**: faint Makorra

**Disclaimer**: I don't own this franchise, nor am I affiliated with Nick or LoK's creators.

* * *

"Wow! You're really good!"

The note of abrupt praise and naked surprise that color Korra's voice stir an old bitterness in Mako.

It's the same sort the triad thugs used—back when they'd hired he and Bo for low-level work. _Good for a street rat_, they'd said. Unexpectedly _disciplined for a no-name orphan_. Who was teaching him? Surely he had a master.

But he hadn't. Everything he'd learned, Mako had gleaned from back alley fights and keen intuition. And improvised or not, his style has served him well. It had set them on the path to pro-bending. It's what earned he and Bo their first honest pay.

These are the thoughts that swirl in his head as he eyes Korra with detached annoyance. She, who'd been handed everything, admired his bending? _Good_, he thinks. It's a confirmation he didn't need, but can enjoy.

Yet when his eyes find hers, there is nothing he expected there. Nothing patronizing. No condescension. Genuine admiration and a sort of camaraderie are there, instead.

As always, she's oblivious to his conflict. And in the meantime, while he's thinking, she's settled into a perfect example of traditional firebending. As she runs through the stances, she takes care in exaggerating her movements as she encourages him to imitate her.

Mako is, in that moment, stunned.

She's teaching him freely. No questions asked, no exchange demanded. Something stirs beneath his ribs at the thought. He's never had a teacher before.

So as he arranges himself into a painstaking recreation of her stance, Mako decides it is _very_ difficult to dislike Korra. She's all headlong honesty and endearing guilelessness. There's something in her unpolished demeanor that speaks to him—the boy who's never, before this day, been able to call his bending _refined_. Although this traditional style will be the first thing they share, it is not what characterizes them.

It is the roughness in each of them that calls out to the other.


	7. Once, there was

**Title**: Once, there was.

**Prompt**: Misfortune

**Pairings**: Masami, Makorra

**Disclaimer: I don't own this franchise, nor am I affiliated with Nick or LoK's creators.**

* * *

Mako was not like the other boys, Asami thought. And that was _precisely _what made him so fascinating.

His eyes would slip across the room as he entered it. She thought it was an interesting quirk, when she first noted it. Something that made him just a little bit dangerous, in the best possible way. Just like his pale yellow eyes or the tilt of his chin—it was an inescapable part of him. A layover from his rough-and-tumble youth that made him _Mako_.

It made Asami smile. But in all her watching, she began to realize something more. It became apparent slowly. His—preference—more pronounced the longer considered, and the closer she looked. In all the watching, she found something she wished she hadn't.

Sometimes his eyes would find the shape of Korra, when the young avatar was distracted.

He would trace the fall of her hair or the rise of her shoulders as she was bending—innocuous things that seemed so unthreatening at first. Perhaps he was admiring her mastery over their shared element. Perhaps he found her tribal hairstyle as kitschy-quaint as she, herself did.

But it _wasn't_ that innocent. Gradually, it unsettled Asami. There was something in his smile where she was concerned. Some hint of grudging pride. Some measure of affection. It was inherent and so faint that she'd missed it, until now.

It was an _ease_ between them, Asami finally named it. No awkwardness when their shoulders brushed or hands touched. And for all their bickering, each knew where the other stood. Without asking, they knew. He and Korra didn't have to work at their compatibility. They simply fit one and other—both brash in their own fashion.

It stung. Because he was, Asami admitted, _not_ the boy for her. But, despite that bit of misfortune, Mako _was_ the one she wanted.


End file.
